


The Case of the Locked Door

by trillingstar



Category: Agatha Raisin (TV)
Genre: Ass Play, Episode Related, Frottage, M/M, Mentioned Characters, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Scratching, Sharing a Bed, Temperature Play, Yuleporn, Yuletide 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28117956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/pseuds/trillingstar
Summary: James felt a headache creeping on, and with good reason. Charles had essentially kidnapped him from the car park, all that had been missing was a ski mask and a ransom note. He'd been thrown around in the boot like an old tennis shoe in the dryer.  Right now he wanted to take a nap, not think about tomorrow's charity auction.
Relationships: Sir Charles Fraith/James Lacey
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	The Case of the Locked Door

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shorina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shorina/gifts).



> A/N: Picks up during _The Love from Hell_. Huge thanks to my wonderful beta, Ozsaur!  
>   
> Happy Yuletide, Shorina!  
> 

Charles Fraith was not a good driver. Until now, this had not affected James Lacey overmuch because Charles rarely drove them anywhere. Yet in the present moment, as he lay scrunched in the boot of Charles' car, it was his only focus. The manor was a short distance from the psychiatrist's office, but James' perspective shifted with every bump in the road. Bracing himself, James' arms collided with the hard plastic lining, again, when the car hit a pothole. Charles' heavy footwork on the pedals made James question if he was doing it on purpose.

The car shot forward again. James let out a pained groan, already envisioning the inevitable stop on a dime. When the sound of a car door closing filtered into the muffled quiet of the boot, James relaxed, letting go of a deeply-held breath. 

He had made it.

Also, he should have known that the universe would not let him get away scot-free. 

He knew he sounded cranky when he asked, "Is this really necessary?" but James hadn't expected the fondness in Charles' tone when he replied, "It is if you don't want to get arrested," and followed it up with the faintest smirk.

"You're enjoying this too much," James accused.

Charles said, "Yes, maybe," and the mirth in his eyes made James have to look away, swallowing down a grin in return.

"Well, come on then," Charles said, reaching for James' legs. The pair of them froze when Agatha's bright voice rang out from across the lawn.

They all three played the half-open, half-closed game with the boot far too long. James' whole body pointlessly cringed away from the light each time the lid lifted and the sound of Agatha's stilettos came nearer, but finally Charles lured her away. 

James worked to recover his normal heartbeat, then hauled himself out. He landed clumsily, and his hands scraped against the rough white gravel. Still, he'd survived the journey, though his aching knees held a rather different view of the situation.

Locating the deliveries vestibule for the kitchen, James jiggled the doorknob, gaining him entrance to the back stairs. He'd traversed the servants' passages before, albeit with a much-younger Charles at his side. Historically, Fraiths were sent away for schooling at such a young age that they hardly ever bonded with their parents, and thusly the cycle of avoidance continued.

To balance out the flush of guilty urgency he felt with Agatha in the house, James took his time rediscovering the nooks and twists of the hallway. The patterned wallpaper was faded, but both it and the floor runners looked clean, and he spotted long-forgotten pictures hanging in the same places as he remembered. 

Though he'd aimed for his room from the night before, the knob James turned let him out just past the drawing room, where he heard Charles offering to mix Agatha a second drink. Her response was lost in the clatter of ice cubes against glass. James hesitated. He wanted to join them, to tell Agatha that she didn't need to worry about him. They'd split right before he left on tour, and it had gone smoothly, but it was too much to ask that she keep his presence a secret. 

The reveal would likely result in other people from the gang showing up, along with Sheila, who was primed for maximum fuss. James felt a headache creeping on, and with good reason. Charles essentially kidnapped him from the car park, all that had been missing was a ski mask and a ransom note. Then he'd been thrown around like an old tennis shoe in the dryer. He felt tattered and bruised, and suddenly all he wanted was to take a nap, not think about tomorrow's charity auction. 

A wave of irritation washed over him at finding the guest room locked. James eased open the door to Charles' quarters, but the adjoining door in Charles' sitting room was locked as well. James couldn't very well wander the halls, and no one would barge into Charles' bedroom unannounced; it was probably the safest place in the whole house. 

In the bathroom, James found a stocked medicine cabinet, and attended to his scratched-up wrists. He used one of the freely available spare toothbrushes, then returned to the bedroom in a cloud of mint and antiseptic. The room spun when James sat on the bed. He toed off his shoes and socks, then fell over sideways. The bedcovers were plush and inviting, and the pillowcase felt cool and soft against James' cheek. 

He had the fleeting thought of Charles being the one to fuss over him; Charles had been the one to heave James into the boot, after all. As they'd walked from the shrink's office, Charles kept close to James, sweeping them over to the car with a light arm around his shoulder. He'd popped open the lid and said, "Only the best!"

James had looked down, and then back at Charles. "In there."

"You'll fit, buddy," Charles had the gall to reply cheerfully.

"You're too kind," James had sneered, but that rarely worked on Charles. It proved even less effectual when Charles gave him a friendly wave and then solidly closed the boot.

James stretched, dozy and a bit cold. Wriggling around, he shucked down to pants and undershirt, then pushed them to the floor. He crawled under the covers and settled in, thinking on how Charles had fussed already -- he'd bundled James inside after James had succumbed to unconsciousness in the back garden. He'd deposited James on a sofa, even wrapping him in a blanket before rousing him, and then making sure James didn't nod off. He fixed a sandwich and practically forced James to finish it, all the while ignoring James' protestations, _and_ all the while listening to James' account of what had happened at Agatha's house. Charles had even taken James with him to question Melissa Sheppard's supposed psychiatrist. 

He hadn't even taken the piss about the novel entitled _Fifty Shades of James_. The thought made James smile as he drifted off to sleep.

James woke with a little snuffle. He heard the sound of the shower running, and in the muted light furnished by the moon hanging outside the windows, he saw Charles' clothing flung onto a chair. The shower stopped, James' eyelids dipped low again, and then the mattress moved as Charles slipped in next to him. 

Clearly, Charles believed James to still be asleep, so there was no need to move or alert him to the truth. James kept his breaths slow and even, and after a few minutes of lying side by side, Charles murmured sleepily and fell silent. James expected sleep to overtake him in a rush, as he still felt tired to the bone. His bandaged wrists throbbed and his eyes felt gritty, but he couldn't recapture the same freefall towards dreamland. 

Charles broke the silence. "All right?"

"Hmm?"

"You're moving around a lot."

"Sorry," James said, then, "You don't seem surprised."

"That you're tossing and turning?" 

"No," James said. "That I'm sleeping in your bed."

James could almost hear the gears clicking as Charles searched for the right words.

"Well," Charles said, finally. "It's not the first time."

"Sorry," James relented. "I'm sorry, these past couple of weeks have been -- everything with the tour, and then, everything with Melissa. Sheila, broadsiding me. I'm, I'm absolutely knackered, and I can't get it through my skull to just -- to stop _thinking_ about everything."

"You really don't--?"

"No!" James flipped over, propping up on one arm. He needed to glare at Charles instead of directing his frustration at the armoire. "I don't bloody remember!"

"And that's why can't you get comfortable," Charles said, sounding unsure.

Tamping down his vexation, James took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "If I could stop thinking for thirty seconds." 

"Turn off your brain, that's what you need?"

"You think I don't want to remember," James realized.

"No, I believe you," Charles said, turning to face James. The duvet slid down his bare chest. 

James' gaze darted up. "Tell me you do not still sleep starkers."

"I would never," Charles said, mock-affronted. "You're the one who's always overdressed."

"If you believe me, then--" James sat up, letting Charles tug down the sheet.

"Maybe it'll come back after we flip your off switch," Charles offered. "I think I still remember how."

Charles yanked away both the covers and James' shirt in one sweeping move as James sat non-plussed. Charles touched his thumb to James' lips, he cupped James' chin briefly, then skimmed along his cheek. 

"You look off your trolley, mate," Charles said softly, but affection rang through the statement, belying the casual words. He studied James' face as he combed his fingers through James' hair. He gripped a fistful suddenly, pulling James' head back and to the side.

"Oh," James said in surprise, allowing it. His nipples tightened, his shoulders relaxed, he'd even arched toward Charles the slightest bit. " _Charles_."

"Tickety-boo," Charles whispered. They lay back down. "Take these -- there we go."

James stripped off, pushing and then kicking at the bedcovers until they were well free. Underneath, Charles was starkers. "You're shameless."

"Mm," Charles agreed, setting his nose to James' neck. He drew back immediately. "You smell like me, why do you--" He kissed James' earlobe, then directly below it, and then again, until James' breath shuddered. 

"I used your facilities," James said, raising one arm so Charles could see the bandages. 

Charles snatched up James' hand. "What happened?"

"The great battle of Sharp Rock Drive. I lost, obviously."

Charles held James' gaze as he kissed over the dressing on James' wrist, then the palm of his hand, next the tips of his fingers. 

"Sod off," James said, sulky and annoyed that the gentleness felt so good. Usually that was how he preferred it -- slow, tender love-making supplied levels of detail and control that appealed to James in the basest way. He worked to keep the irritation from his tone. "You promised something else."

"Did I," Charles said, slotting them close together. James wound his arms around Charles' neck as Charles stroked a warm hand up and down his side.

"You bloody well did," James said impatiently, "and if you can't follow through, just whack me over the head with a skillet and be done."

"I wouldn't want to be known as a skiver," Charles said, trailing the backs of his fingers down James' thigh.

James huffed. "So now I'm work."

Charles wrapped his fingers around James' neck, and laid a kiss on James' mouth. "There are fifteen bedrooms in my house, and I'm bunking with you." 

They kissed again, Charles taking care to suck on James' lower lip, then nip at it, and each time, James groaned involuntarily. 

"Good?"

"Yes, good," James confirmed. He scratched lightly at Charles' hairline, down the back of his neck and shoulders, until Charles shivered. "I remember too."

"Brilliant," Charles said, and then they were full-on snogging, Charles' hand squeezing James' hip, angling their bodies together. James plunged his tongue into Charles' mouth just as their pricks touched. Charles made a noise like he'd been punched, so James rolled his hips, wanting to hear it again.

The bed jounced as Charles half-turned, fumbling at the bedside table. Coming back, he pressed in tight, and James felt the tickle of chest hair against his front. Sneaking one arm between James and the mattress, Charles pulled them closer still.

"Arms up -- good, keep them there," Charles said as James hugged him around the neck. His breath tickled at James' ear. "Don't stray."

James shook his head as best he could, and was glad for the instruction. It helped to focus on following the rule when Charles' big, hot hands came down on James' arse. This time James' breath rushed out, but his arms stayed locked in place. Between them, his prick jumped, and Charles responded by pressing their bodies together, throwing his weight into it, all while making quiet noises of appreciation. Sweat broke out on James' back and the heat shared between their bodies intensified. 

Charles gripped James' arsecheeks, squeezing both at the same time, then one at a time, back and forth, and then again. Stopping to readjust his hold, his fingers slid closer to James' arsehole as he repeated the pattern. Each time, James leaned forward against Charles, against the solidity of him. Charles started the cycle again, but instead of stopping to firm up his grip, he kept going, holding James' arsecheeks apart and away from his hole. The feeling of exposure aroused James so much that his whole body shook from it, his arms tightening around Charles.

"Breathe, James," Charles said, jiggling James' arse in his hands. "We're at least an hour from hospital."

James wanted to tell him to piss right off, but his words came out garbled. 

Charles laughed darkly. His fingernails dug into James' arse, and he kept them there until James squirmed, arching back. Kissing roughly down James' neck, Charles bit at the base of his throat, sucking hard. James flushed hot all over when Charles kneaded and pinched at his cheeks, and pleasure coiled up his spine.

"Ah!" James gasped out. "Ah-- ah--!"

Splaying his fingers wide, Charles' fingernails dragged against James' arsecheeks each time he tugged and squeezed, using some tempo known only to him. James' arse felt hot and tender, especially along the little welts where Charles had scratched repeatedly. James hissed at the sensation when Charles reached up and shared the warmth from his hands with James' lower back; then, Charles lingered, kneading and grasping, and James writhed helplessly when the heat registered on his cool skin.

James cracked. "Please, could you. Please."

Charles surged against him, stilling them, and settled more firmly against James. Their legs tangled together as Charles trapped James' calves between his own. Charles' hands came down on James' arse again, spreading his arsecheeks apart; Charles fitted his palm between them, one fingertip brushing over James' hole. For long moments, James thought only of how Charles might touch him next, listening to the hitch in Charles' breathing as he got a better grip on James' arse, holding one cheek to the side. Time ticked by slowly, and finally Charles' fingertip briefly touched James' hole again, tapping lightly. James shivered, falling limp as his body relaxed, his senses hyperaware of Charles' intimate touches.

"Mmm, yes," Charles said, sounding satisfied. His fingers moved in a rhythm of light, gentle brushes interspersed with harder taps and more pressure, hitting directly onto James' arsehole.

James ground out a series of inarticulate noises, unable to stop the way his arsehole clenched, grasping at Charles' finger at each pass. 

"Fuck," Charles swore, suddenly. " _James_."

Charles shuddered against James as he worked to gain control. His hands stroked up James' back, then came down to cup James' arse, squeezing and releasing. When the pad of Charles' finger settled on James' hole, James whined, not caring how he sounded. Charles' finger went round in a little circle while James panted in Charles' ear, unable to catch his breath. The heat built up between their bodies verged on too hot, but still James leaned into it. When Charles touched him again, his fingertip was wetted with spit, pushing gently inside.

"Bloody hell," James whispered, his head lolling back. "Feels good."

"You feel good," Charles whispered back, tapping again, tacky-feeling touches as the spit dried on James' hot skin. Charles kissed James' throat and down his shoulder, the pad of his finger rubbing over James' hole. "Well fit."

Charles knocked the breath from James when the edge of his fingernail scraped delicately against the tender skin at James' arsehole. 

"Jesus!" 

"Sorry," Charles said, not sounding sorry in the least. James heard the cap on the lube open as Charles worked the tip of his finger in again, circling and tugging. Charles' next touch felt cold and slick, and James' hips jerked, arms breaking out in gooseflesh even as sweat trickled slowly down his back. Charles' finger teased at his arsehole, gliding back and forth smoothly along the same slippery path without any variation, opening James up.

"Fuhh," James said incoherently as his body wracked with a full-body shiver. 

Charles pressed his mouth to James', kissing him sweetly in quick pecks, and then they were snogging again. James had to break away to breathe when Charles slowly pushed his finger into James' arsehole, and he moaned into Charles' ear as Charles pushed steadily in and out of James' body, over and over again. 

"Yes," Charles encouraged when James hesitantly moved his hips; Charles' finger pushed in harder as James moved faster. Every part of him felt over-sensitized, and his arms ached from keeping them in one place. Usually James didn't break the rules, but he moved anyway, sliding his hands down Charles' warm back. 

"That's good," Charles said, sounding out of breath but never breaking rhythm. "Stray all you like."

James scratched at the small of Charles' back as best he could with the angle, and then slid his hands further down to cover Charles' arse, squeezing as he used Charles' body for leverage to bring them closer.

" _Yes_ ," Charles said again when James grabbed at his arsecheeks. 

Smoothing one hand over James' still-hot arse, Charles squeezed until James let out a groan, his skin tingling hot and cold all over. Charles' finger pushed inside again, a constant, shallow pressure that rocketed James right up to the edge. Everything blurred forward in a twist of white-hot pleasure. James thought of nothing beyond the feeling of Charles' prick against his own and how good their bodies felt moving together, rubbing and thrusting with intent.

Charles sounded faintly surprised when he said, "Fuck, I'm coming," and then, "You too, c'mon," and James' prick agreed this was eminently reasonable. He caught Charles' mouth in a hard kiss just as Charles plunged two fingers into James' arsehole. James bucked and shouted, scratching at Charles' side and thigh as they shuddered together.

The next morning, they both overslept. 

The mirror confirmed that James still looked rough, but he felt well-rested. Breakfast consisted of tea and jam on singed toast.

"It's not my specialty," Charles said, and James knew this to be the truth. He gobbled it down anyway while Charles dressed.

"Now you," Charles said, feeling along one of the shelves in the recessed bookcase on the far wall. Triumphantly, he held up a brass ring laden with vintage keys. He shook it at James. "I forget which one exactly."

James gaped at him. "Sorry, you had the keys to my room all along?"

Charles' face was the picture of innocence. "Should I not have keys to my own house?"

"But, then. Why did you, I mean, I was right next door."

"Better mattress," Charles said. "Also, my way's more fun."

James gave in to a good laugh. "All right, you've convinced me."

Later, they watched as a rush of people arrived for the auction, milling around on Barfield House's front lawn as volunteers finished setting up the podium and displays. 

Charles twitched the curtain back into place.

"It's better if I stay away, and keep watch from a distance," James said. 

Charles hadn't moved. "Okay."

Reaching out, Charles took hold of James' wrist, stroking his thumb over it.

"Yes," James blurted out. He cleared his throat. "I mean. See you?"

"Definitely," Charles said, giving James a quick once-over as he backed away. 

"Good," James said, feeling bold. "I'll need your key for my lock, after all."  



End file.
